Beneath a Southern Sky (17 page)

Vidalé remained to stand guard at the door to the hut. Nate couldn’t imagine what kind of threat he posed to Juan Mocoa, but since that time, his hut had been closely guarded at all times.

Twice each day, food and drink were brought to him, and twice each day his hands were tied in front of him and he was led to the river to relieve himself or to bathe. He had tried to communicate with the young men who had been assigned the duty of escorting him, but though the walls of this prison and the strong vine ropes with which they tied him rendered him harmless, his captors seemed to fear him and refused to speak with him.

He prayed continually. Though he didn’t understand why God had allowed him to live this nightmare, he knew he was not alone. He had felt God’s touch many times, had often been filled with a quiet peace that only the presence of God could explain. On two separate occasions he had felt an actual physical presence—a benevolent entity that he believed to be an angel—inside the hut with him. He grasped tightly to the memories of those incidents, and they strengthened him when his faith faltered.

Yesterday morning, Nate had awakened to the sound of the engine of Juan Mocoa’s boat. The sound was music to Nate’s ears as it faded into silence downriver. But his beliefs that the man’s departure would end his confinement proved unfounded. If anything, his guards seemed to take their duty more seriously than ever now that Juan Mocoa was gone.

As another sun melted into the jungle, Nathan lay back on the hard-packed earth and let his mind drift, waiting for the blessing of nightfall when he would lie awake, as he did every night, fixing his eyes on the split in the roof. The foliage that grew above his hut was thick, but sometimes when the wind parted the palm fronds and the night sky was blackest, he would catch a glimpse of a single star. It was a split-second twinkle of light, but he told himself that it was Spica, the bright star of Virgo that was his and Daria’s. When that happened, hope would swell in his breast again. He would remember his last night with Daria, and he would dream that miles down the river, she was looking at the same star, sending her love to him on a whispered prayer.

Seventeen

C
olson Hunter rose at five o’clock on Valentine’s Day to find the countryside buried in a thick blanket of snow. He dialed the Haydon’s number, where Daria was staying, while he measured coffee into the coffeemaker.

Daria answered with an uninterpretable mumble. “Hey, sleepyhead. Do you know what day this is?”

“Valentine’s Day,” she said archly, that impish grin of hers coming through the line as clearly as if she’d been in the room.

“So what do you want for Valentine’s Day?” he played along. But she turned serious. “I just want you. Oh, Cole, I just want you. I can’t wait.”

“Me neither. But, um, have you by any chance looked outside?”

“Why?” He heard her stumbling out of bed and raising the blinds at her window. He waited for her response, fully expecting her to moan in dismay. But she surprised him.

“Cole! It’s gorgeous! What a beautiful day for a wedding.”

“Yeah, if anyone can get there. The roads are pretty bad, Dar.”

“As long as you and the minister show up, I really don’t care if anyone else makes it.”

“Are you nervous?”

“No, just excited. I just want it to be tomorrow!” He laughed his pleasure at her comment. “Well, my love, you just snuggle under those warm blankets for a few more hours. I, on the other hand, have to get out in this white stuff and plow my way through to the clinic. The animals don’t really give two hoots that it’s my wedding day.”

“But Cole, can’t Travis do it?”

“I don’t mind. I’m too nervous to sleep anyway.”

“Are you? Nervous, I mean.”

“A little,” he admitted. “Now go back to sleep. The next time I see you, you’ll be just minutes away from being Mrs. Colson Hunter.”

“Mmm,” she sighed. “I like the sound of that.”

“I love you.”

“Not as much as I love you.” It was her standard response, but he never tired of hearing it.

Still smiling, he hung up the phone and poured himself a cup of coffee. He was almost afraid to think about how happy he was. Since Bridgette’s death he hadn’t dared to hope for this kind of happiness again. And now he’d been blessed not only with the most wonderful woman in the world to love and who’d loved him in return, but with a little girl who called him
Daddy
. He thought of God’s promise to “restore what the locust hath eaten,” and he was humbled to realize how amazingly that had been borne out in his own life.

At one time he had lost everything that was precious to him. No one, not even Daria, knew just how much he had lost. But he had decided long ago not to dwell on the past. Nothing could ever change the fact that things had happened as they had. It had all been forgiven and mostly forgotten. And now here he sat on a beautiful winter morning about to have the blessing of love restored to him. He felt unworthy. Deep gratitude welled up inside him, and he bowed his head and gave thanks—though it seemed there were no adequate words.

He drained his coffee cup and went to the mud room to pull on his coveralls and boots. He stepped off the back porch into almost a foot of snow. Crunching around to the front of the house, he saw that the snowplow had yet to make it down the dirt road. He would have to clear the driveway and the short stretch of road to the highway himself. He trudged down the lane that led to the barn and went in to hook the snow blade to his little farm tractor.

Two hours later the road was clear, the clinic chores were done, and he was back home to shower and eat a quick breakfast.

He pulled on blue jeans and a sweater, grabbed the black pinstriped suit—the one he hadn’t removed from the cleaner’s bag since he’d worn it in his cousin’s wedding three years before—and headed for the church.

The country church where Cole and Daria were to be married looked like something out of a fairy tale. The county road grader had already been down the side roads to the highway. Most of the family members who lived nearby would be able to get there, but Cole doubted if anyone would come from a distance on such a day.

Inside the church, Cole stamped the snow off his boots and peeked into the sanctuary. The snow gave it a hushed atmosphere. The organist was quietly running through the songs one last time, and Daria’s mother and her friend Beth were fussing with the garlands of ivy and the hurricane lamps that decorated the altar and the ends of the oak pews.

Margo Haydon looked up, distracted. “Oh, hi Cole.”

“Hi, Mom,” he said. He’d begun calling her that teasingly when he and Daria announced their engagement. She smiled at him. It was nice to have someone to call
Mom
and
Dad
again.

“Is Daria here yet?” he asked, even though the two women had already gone back to an intent discussion about the satin ribbon twined among the ivy.

Margo looked at her friend with mock disgust. “Just listen to that, Beth. ‘Is Daria here yet?’” She turned to Cole, wagging a finger. “You’ve got a lot to learn, buddy. Daria has been here for an hour. She’s doing her hair in the nursery. We women are not so lucky as to simply hop in the shower, jump into a suit, and show up at the altar. And don’t you dare go in there. You do know that the groom is not allowed to see the bride until she comes down the aisle?”

“So I’ve heard.” He laughed and held up the bag from the cleaners. “Well, I’m going to go jump into a suit.”

The two women laughed loudly. Rolling his eyes, he headed down the darkened hallway that led to the Sunday-school classrooms and the rest rooms. The door marked
Nursery
popped open, and Daria stepped into the hallway wearing a simple, ivory-colored satin sheath gown. In spite of the fact that she was barefoot and had two bright red hair curlers sprouting from the top of her head, she looked stunningly beautiful.

She let out a little scream when she saw him. “Cole!”

“Are you superstitious?”

“I guess not.” She gave him that smile that melted his heart.

“Then come here.”

He took her into his arms, amazed all over again that after today she would belong to him. “You look gorgeous,” he whispered.

“Thank you, sir. But don’t wrinkle me,” she teased.

He held her at arm’s length and pretended to smooth the creases from the shoulders of her dress. “I think we’re going to have an even smaller wedding than we originally planned. The roads are still pretty bad.”

“I know,” she sighed. “But you know what? I don’t care.”

“So you said. Me neither,” he said, unable to resist kissing her.

She returned his kiss, then reached up and wiped a smudge of her lipstick from his mouth. “You better go get ready, Dr. Hunter.”

He saluted her. “Yes ma’am.” He turned on his heel and then remembered something. “Hey,” he called after her.

She turned, looking up at him expectantly.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart.”

Barely two hours later the cake had been cut and the wedding toasts made. Hand in hand, Cole and Daria mingled with the few friends and family members who still lingered at the reception. Natalie, enjoying birthday-girl status, toddled stocking-footed among the guests, modeling her miniature pink satin dress, the soles of her white tights sticky with punch and cake crumbs.

Finally Cole grew impatient. He leaned down and whispered in his bride’s ear, “Let’s blow this pop stand.”

She giggled and planted a kiss on his cheek. “Patience, my love, patience.”

A few minutes later, Margo saved the day. She sauntered over to the newlyweds and in a husky stage whisper told them, “Why don’t you two get out of here so these people will go home?”

They didn’t have to be asked twice. They ran down the hallway to change into warm clothes, and a few minutes later—among heartfelt good wishes, repeated goodbye waves to Natalie, and much teasing about their secret honeymoon location—they piled into Cole’s four-wheel-drive pickup and plowed through the snow back to Cole’s house. No,
their
house.

They pulled into the lane that led to the farmhouse, and Cole parked the truck and went around to open Daria’s door for her. She jumped into his arms and he held her, laughing.

The night stretched out ahead of them full of promise. They would build a fire in the hearth and share supper on the sofa. Snow had begun to fall anew, and Cole relished the fact that it would barricade them from the world. They had so much love to share that a lifetime didn’t seem enough, let alone these next few precious days.

As Cole carried his wife through the doorway, he knew that he would always look back on this moment—this instant when the woman he loved more than life itself crossed the threshold to share his home and his life—as one of the happiest he would ever know.

Eighteen

D
aria came awake slowly and smiled when she saw Cole beside her in the big bed. She rolled toward him and snuggled in the crook of his arm, moved at how his embrace tightened possessively around her even as he slept. She lay her head on his shoulder and listened to his deep, even breathing, marveling again that he was her husband. It was the fifth morning of their life together as husband and wife. How wonderful it was to share her bed again, to have the warmth and strength of a man on the pillow beside her.

Theirs had been an idyllic honeymoon. The weather had locked them inside the house—or, more accurately, had locked the world out. They’d romped in the snow like children, camped in front of the fire in the cozy den for hours on end, talking, making love, feeding each other crackers and cheese, sipping warm mugs of hot chocolate. Daria wished it would never end.

She was grateful to be feeling this way now because their first night together had been an emotional roller coaster for her. Cole had been so gentle, so tender, and yet his lovemaking had brought memories of Nathan crashing back. Of course, she didn’t want to tell Cole how she was feeling. But she knew that he was probably struggling with old memories himself. Afterward she had lain in his arms in the dark and tried desperately to hide her tears, for she honestly couldn’t have told Cole whether they were tears of joy because she’d found him or tears of sorrow because she’d lost Nate.

Now, in the grey light of this new morning, she realized that her tears had probably been a poignant mingling of the two. She determined to concentrate on the present and on the future that hung before them like ripening fruit.

She shook him gently. “Hey, lazybones.”

He growled playfully and covered his head with the pillow.

“Cole, let’s go get Nattie and bring her back here. She’ll love the sled.”

At that he perked up. Daria had supposed she would be the one to struggle with being separated from her daughter for five days, especially when the little girl was staying so close by with Daria’s parents. The third afternoon of their honeymoon, he approached her with a glum expression on his face. “Don’t you think we ought to go check on Natalie?” he’d asked her.

“You big sap! We haven’t even been away from her for three days yet. I think that little girl has you on a short leash.” She laughed.

“I know, I know.” He grinned sheepishly. “I miss her.”

“And I love you for it.” She leaned across the narrow island in the kitchen where they were fixing fajitas, and kissed him.

“I don’t know, Daria,” Cole said. “There’s just something about hearing that little blond angel call me
Daddy
.” He turned away to stir the peppers and onions that were frying on the stove, but Daria didn’t miss the catch in his voice, and she was moved all over again by Cole’s unconditional love for her daughter.

She had managed to dissuade him then, but now, two days later, she was as anxious as he to see Nattie again. Daria could hardly wait to share this perfect winter day and the coziness of their new home with her. Mostly she couldn’t wait to share her new daddy with her.

Cole threw back the covers and started toward the shower. “Better call your mom and warn her we’re coming.”

“I don’t think she’ll be too surprised,” she said, pulling on her jeans.

They shoveled down bowls of granola and climbed into Cole’s truck.

As they drove over snow-packed roads, talking all the way about the plans and dreams they had for their future together, Daria could hardly contain the emotion that welled up in her. These precious days with Cole had been so fleeting, but instead of feeling that her honeymoon had just ended, she felt as though her life was beginning all over again. And she intended to savor every single moment.

Winter seemed to hang on forever, but in spite of the endless parade of grey, frigid days, Daria longed to slow time down. She continued to work at the clinic several hours each morning, but Cole had suggested that she stay home with Natalie in the afternoons. Daria was grateful for the time at home with her daughter. Natalie had adjusted to life in the country as though she’d been born to it, and she was growing so fast that they had trouble keeping her in clothes.

When spring finally came, Daria was delighted at the riot of daffodils and tulips that had sprung up almost overnight along the lane that led to the farmhouse. The brilliant yellow and red blossoms and the flowering crab apple trees that framed the house seemed to transform their humble farmhouse into a charming fairy-tale cottage. Natalie seemed to love spring as much as her mother, and every evening while Daria put dinner on the table, the little girl rode her daddy’s broad shoulders down the lane where they plucked a bright bouquet for the supper table. Daria would watch them, Natalie clutching the bouquet tightly in her sweaty palm, Rufus romping and slobbering beside them, Cole looking so happy it almost made her own heart ache with joy. It was such a contrast to the sorrow they’d both known. She wasn’t sure life could possibly get any sweeter than this.

In her spare time Daria worked on the house. Cole and Travis had torn down the old garage, which sat fifty yards from the farmhouse. Now, when the weather permitted, they worked on erecting a new one—this one attached to the house. Cole had spent most of his weekends working on the garage, and when she could talk him into it, helping Daria hang wallpaper and new curtains in the house.

One Saturday night late in May, they worked together hanging paper in the large master bedroom upstairs. They had been working since sunrise and were both exhausted. Though still strewn with the paraphernalia of the job, the room itself was finished, and Cole was measuring a length of paper for the walk-in closet.

“Honey, I was thinking of using the other pattern in the closet,” she suggested carefully. “Don’t you think it would look better?”

Cole threw up his hands, and the heavy roll of wallpaper fell to the floor with a thud. “Do you want my help or not?” he snapped.

“Cole,” she said in a voice meant to appease, “I just thought the stripes might be hard to match with those sloped ceilings. I wasn’t trying to tell you what to do.”

“Well, it sure sounded that way!”

She’d known he was tired and a bit testy, but she was shocked at the anger in his voice now. “I’m sorry, honey. I didn’t mean to—” She was on the edge of tears. “Let’s finish this tomorrow,” she suggested. “We can work on it after church while Nattie takes her nap—”

“No,” he spat, “I want to get it over with. I don’t want to spend the whole weekend on this stupid project.”

Her calm reasoning wasn’t having its desired effect. “Are you mad at me about something?” Now she was angry, but she tried to make her voice convey hurt instead.

“Daria, I’m not going to stand here at nine o’clock at night and argue about wallpaper. Bring me that other roll.”

“No, if you think this looks better, that’s fine with me.”

“Well, that’s a new one.” This sounded suspiciously like long pent-up steam hissing out.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked cautiously.

He turned to glare at her. “You haven’t exactly asked my opinion on the rest of the house.”

“Cole…honey, why didn’t you say something? I thought you
wanted
me to redecorate—”

“There was nothing wrong with the way the house was when you moved in.”

She was stunned. In all the weeks they’d been redecorating, he had never once hinted that he disapproved of her desire to change the wallcoverings and add a few feminine touches.

He brushed past her and crossed the room to retrieve a roll of the floral-patterned paper. Then he turned his back on her and began measuring again.

Fuming at the unfairness of his accusation, she went for the vacuum and started to clean up the mess in the bedroom. While she put the furniture back in place and tucked fresh sheets on the bed, Cole finished papering.

It was almost midnight when he emerged from the closet and stood in front of the door, waiting to catch her eye. Bowing deeply he gave her a sly grin. “There, your majesty. Come and see if this meets your approval.”

Sensing his overtures at reconciliation, she approached cautiously and looked inside. “It’s beautiful.” The entire room had been transformed from an austere bachelor’s den to a cozy lovers’ nest.

“Honey, I’m…so sorry if you think I’ve just moved in and taken over. That wasn’t my inten—”

But he interrupted her with a finger to her lips. “Shh. I’m the one who’s sorry. Forget everything I said. I was just tired and crabby.”

“But those things you said didn’t just come from nowhere—”

“The house looks great, Daria. I like what you’ve done. Really. It’s just that I’m set in my ways. It’s not easy to teach an old dog new tricks. But hey, I’m adjusting, okay?”

She looked at him, trying to read his true thoughts.

But he reached for her hand, and all the harsh words that had passed between them began to fade. “I would hang froufrou, flowery wallpaper every weekend for the rest of my life if that’s what it takes to have you in bed beside me every night.”

She cocked her head coyly. “Oh, so now it’s all about sex?”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it. Although you do have a point there.”

She laughed and whacked him with the roll of leftover wallpaper.

“Besides,” he continued, ducking out of her reach, “you know what they say about wallpapering, don’t you?”

“What?”

“They say if a marriage can survive hanging wallpaper together, it can survive anything.”

Her smile held skepticism. “
Did
we survive?”

Pulling her into his arms, he kissed her deeply, then held her at arm’s length and looked her square in the eye. “I think we did. Let’s just not test it again too soon, okay?” Tenderly, he brushed back a wisp of hair that had come loose from her ponytail. Laughing with relief, she put her head on his chest and tightened her arms around his waist.

The following days reminded her that there were many other adjustments they would have to make. The first time Cole spanked Natalie, Daria had to bite her tongue to keep from protesting. Cole told the obstinate little girl at least four times to leave the stereo alone. But her fascination with the shiny knobs and dials was too strong. When she reached out again, her watchful eye on Cole proving that she knew better, he hoisted her into the air without warning and turning her over his arm, gave her well-padded bottom three sharp smacks.

Natalie let out a scream that Daria knew was more anger and shock than pain, but nevertheless, when she saw Natalie’s eyes pleading with her for rescue, everything in her wanted to spring to her daughter’s defense. Trembling, she forced herself to go into the kitchen and stand at the counter, as Cole held Natalie and gently explained why he’d had to spank her.

“Listen to me, Nattie,” Cole explained patiently. “Daddy told you four times not to bother the stereo, didn’t he?”

Daria stepped into the doorway—where she could see but not be seen by Natalie—in time to see the little blond head nod miserably.

“When Daddy says
no
, he means it. Do you understand that, Nattie?”

Again that pitiful nod.

“Daddy loves you very, very much, but I expect you to obey me and Mommy. Now give me a hug, and you can go find a book for me to read to you.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck, and Daria marveled at her quick forgiveness. She knew that her willful daughter needed Cole’s firm hand, but oh, it was hard to stand by and keep silent.

One Friday at the end of August, Cole appeared in the reception room of the clinic as Daria was getting ready to head out the door to pick up Natalie at her parents’ house. Natalie was scheduled to spend the weekend with the Camfields, and Daria planned to meet Jack and Vera at the café in Bristol for the exchange.

But now there he stood, minus his lab coat, his car keys in hand. “Ready?” he asked, as if his going had been part of the routine all along.

“Y-You’re going with me?” she stuttered, gathering her purse and sweater.

He nodded. “Yes, I am.” He looked around the office, and, apparently satisfied that they were alone, continued, “These little rendezvous in the café every month are ridiculous, Daria. Whether they like it or not, I am Natalie’s father now. The least they can do is acknowledge my presence.”